Death Warmed Over
by Blood and darkness
Summary: On a vacation from the X-men in the mountains of Ontario Wolverine runs into a strange man with abilities not so different from his own. Will they get along, or fight and what is to be done about a group of men attacking mutants along the country side?
1. Chapter 1

**This is the second of two stories to go up on this site. Enjoy and please reveiw.**

**Death Warmed Over**

It was late and the fire was burning low, logic told me that I should be cold, but the temperature didn't bother me anymore. Even in the subzero climate of the Canadian mountains I was perfectly comfortable to sleep in a simple pup-tent with no coat. It was hard to believe sometimes how resilient I'd become since that day…

_It was early in the morning and the sun was just warming the grass over my father's orchard in Texas. I always liked to gaze out the window of my loft and sip a mug of our best apple cider. It was hard for me to sit around all day with nothing to do, sometimes I felt like sprinting a line down the entire forty-mile stretch of my father's land from the copious amounts of energy I had, but the doctor had made it clear that my heart couldn't take the strain of manual labor anymore. _

" _Jimmy, you up already?" my mother's softly accented voice came calling from the barn below, she'd grew up in the north but when my father married her and moved her down she picked up on our southern drawl, and I heard her soft footfalls from the staircase._

"_Over here ma," I said from the window, "isn't it the most amazing thing you've ever seen?" I asked as she came to stand behind the chair in which I was seated with my bare feet on the window sill. She gently hugged me and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek,_

"_That it is my boy," she replied. I leaned into my mother's gentle embrace, thinking of all the things that had happened in the past year and mourning the life I could have had. I was only eighteen and strong, but because of my rare heart condition it seemed as if my whole future would be over before it started. I sighed,_

"_It reminds me of a simpler time, before the beetles ruined our crop a few months ago, before that man ran over Trixie (our dog), and before my damn heart stopped ticking right. It just isn't fair ma, I don't know why it has to be so hard." My mother took a deep breath and sighed in return,_

"_I hear you boy, but all we can do is pray that the good lord will put this behind us." She said as she always did when I spoke of such things, I wasn't so sure. I stood and put my hands on the sill, gripping until my knuckled turned white,_

"_Ha. Where is GOD now that I really need him?" I grumbled. Before I could tell what was happening she spun me around and slapped me a good one,_

"_James Arnold Taylor, you can curse and spit and huff all you want, you can lock yourself up in this loft and refuse all the pretty girls who come to see you, you may even harass the workers in the orchard because you're bored but I will not have you cursing GOD in this house!" She screamed at me, "Do you understand me?" I looked into the fire in her eyes, that had been a mistake, she hadn't used my middle name since I'd taken father's truck for a spin without permission and hit an apple tree. I cupped my burning cheek in astonishment,_

"_Yes ma'am." I stammered. She smiled and patted my arm as she turned to go, _

"_Good, breakfast is on the table in five minutes, be there if you want to eat. I won't have dawdlers in this house, heart condition or not." _

_SNAP-_

I heard a twig snap from the woods that sorounded my camp, turning slowly I observed the landscape around me but I couldn't find anything out of place. Suddenly a shot rang out and I was knocked to the ground, a piercing pain in my shoulder. I lay still listening, pretending to be dead, and three men stepped out of the wood. They were wearing matching parcas, black with some kind of silver emblem on the chest, and they were all heavily armed.

"Check and make sure he's dead." One of them said gruffly. Another approached and kicked me with the toe of his boot,

"He looks dead boss but the bullet only hit his shoulder." I sprung my trap, jumping up I grabbed the man in a chokehold and spun him around to face his buddies. The other two men pointed their guns, two nasty looking submachine guns, directly at their buddy.

"Hey put those away or your pal gets it." I threatened, pressing the barrel of the .44 I'd been hiding in my wasteband to my hostage's head. The men laughed,

"We don't negociate with muties." And with that they opened fire, the bullets from their guns slicing right through their friend and ripping into my flesh. I dropped my now dead hostage and clutched my chest as their guns clicked uselessly,

"Shit, why isn't he dead?" one of them screamed at the other. My vision was going and I couldn't make out their faces anymore, this was bad. I stumbled back toward the cliff that I knew was behind me and slipped as my foot hit the edge,

"Hahaha, now where to go now freak," I heard the sound of a knife unsheathing, shit! I'd dropped my gun when they shot me, and they were obviously not going to stop until the job was done. I felt the sting of cold metal driving into my side and grabbed the offender's arm.

"You're coming with me." I growled through gritted teeth and launched myself off the cliff. The man screamed all the way down to the rocks and water below but he was quiet once we hit. Water filled my lungs and my body gave in, everythinhg started to go black. _Please let this be it, I don't wanna wake up. Please let me meet my maker today._ I thought as the crisp, cold water from the river filled my lungs and then my head hit a rock and nothing.


	2. Chapter 2Rude Awakenings

Chapter Two: Rude Awakenings

My eyes fluttered open and I hacked up salt water from the river. I'd washed up onto the beach, I was soaked through, and the man I'd pulled over the cliff was next to me. Whether he was dead or just unconscious I couldn't tell, and I didn't care.

I rolled over onto my back, and screamed to the heavens. _Why couldn't I be dead? _I thought cryptically. I didn't want to live anymore, didn't want to push on everyday with no purpose. My entire life since that day was a constant portrait of _why me_ and I was sick of it. The sun had risen high into the sky and I stared into the gray-blue of the Canadian sky, remembering that day.

_I was in the hospital, preparing for surgery. My heart had finally given out, it was clear to the doctors that diet, and relaxation wasn't going to cut it anymore. There was a fairly new procedure that a specialist we'd been sent to said we could try, something about implanting a device to make sure the valves functioned properly. I was beyond caring by this point though, only I was only accepting treatment for my mother's sake. She was such a good woman and the only one who'd kept an eye on me the entire time I'd been sick. _

"_James do you want some more ice?" the nurse asked from the door. I smiled,_

"_I'd rather have a coke, Cindy." I had spent enough time in this place that I was on a first name bases with all the nurses and doctors._

"_Nope, nothing but ice chips." My mother said sternly from the corner. Cindy laughed,_

"_She's right, doctor's orders. You're up for surgery in three hours, James." I nodded to her in acknowledgement,_

"_Thanks, let's hope this does the trick." She held up her hand to show that she had her fingers crossed and returned my nod with a serious look. _

"_Let's hope."_

My limbs were tingling; the blood was just starting to return to them. My body could take a lot more punishment it seemed but it was as if it was constantly in a state of slow motion. My heart beat so infrequently, less than once a minute, that most would think I was dead. My body never reached the temperature that it should, making me feel ice cold to everyone else. My blood didn't even circulate right. On my way out of the country, I was bit by a rattler and walked to the nearest hospital, three miles away, before the pain had even spread from my hand to my arm. But none of these bothered me, or caused me any discomfort.

I sat up and looked down at myself, the bullet wounds in my chest were still there, but they had barely bled at all. I inspected myself for any further injuries, and the only serious thing I could find was the knife sticking out of my side. Bracing myself I pulled it free, it luckily had not lodged in any bones, and grunted from the minimal pain that it caused me. The knife was a good one. It had a short handle made of polished maple and a blade with a slight curve and a serrated edge. This was definitely not a hunting knife; knives like these were only for killing.

"Nice craftsmanship," I said turning to the man who lay face down in the wet sand next to me. I stood and tucked the knife into my belt.

"Now let's see who you work for." I said as I rolled him over. Yep, he was dead all right; the huge dent in his forehead said that clearly. _He must have hit his head same as me_, I thought, _Good_. The insignia on the front of his jacket was a circle made up of a ring of swords all pointing inward toward a fetus with horns and a forked tail.

"Lovely," I thought out loud, "This has cult sub-sect written all over it." I searched the pockets of his parka but there was nothing except for a list of groceries and five dollars. He didn't have a wallet on him either, so I took the money and turned toward town. Maybe somebody at the bar knew about this, plus, I needed a drink.

Directly in front of me was the third man, looking very cold and utterly insane. He must have been hiking downstream all night trying to find me.

"H-h-h-hold it m-mutie." He stuttered through a nasty shivering attack. I grabbed the hilt of the knife in my belt and took a step forward. "Not another st-st-step freak or I blow a hole in your guts." He had his rifle pointed at me and his hands were shaking bad.

"Oh, like this," I took a step and point at one of the holes in my chest.

"STOP!" he shouted.

"Or this," ignoring him I kept walking and pointed at another wound.

"Get back!" he shouted and fired a bullet directly into my stomach. I looked down at the hole in my belly and then back at him with an impassive stare.

"Oh shit." He muttered. A feral grin swept over my face and I nodded,

"Yeah, oh shit." He turned to run but it was useless. I drew the knife from my belt and leapt onto his back, slicing his throat open like a second smile. Staring down at him as he bleed out I held no remorse in my heart for what I had done, I'd found out long ago that this world was kill or be killed. I stripped off the man's coat before it was stained with his blood but couldn't stand to walk around with that picture on my chest so I stole his thick wool sweater instead, I didn't need the warmth, but at least it wasn't full of bullet holes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I'd only been walking for about ten minutes when it started to snow, hard. The wind picked up and the next thing I knew I was right in the middle of a blizzard. The temperature couldn't have been more than thirty below and I was shivering, I wasn't immune to the cold just very resilient, but this was even pushing my limits. I was colder than I had been in a year and a half, cold like space, like nothingness, like…death.

_I came to and it was dark, and very quite. I tried to sit up but my head hit something hard. I tried to feel my boundaries and found them to be very limited. Was I dead? Was this some kind of in between place? Or worse, was it all lies; was I in a coffin in the ground? Doomed to be buried and dead forever. _

"_HELP!" I screamed. I screamed until my throat hurt and pushed at my coffin walls until finally, mercifully. The wall behind my head budged. I pushed it again and it swung open, squinting at the light I crawled out and landed on the hard floor. I was cold, very cold, and naked. Worse yet, I knew where I was, the hospital morgue. The doctor must have made a mistake that was all, my heart had stopped and he thought I was dead but I wasn't, obviously. I looked at the coroner's report that was clipped to the morgue drawer I'd been in. __**James Arnold Taylor, deceased.**__**Cause of death, cardiac arrest. **__But how could he have known what killed me without an autopsy, I looked down. Panic filled my brain; I'd been cut open and sown back together a huge y-shaped incision had been sliced into my chest and abdomen. My screams filled the morgue and I fell into hysterics. This wasn't possible I'd told myself over and over until I had found the will to get up and look for help but it was no use. The hospital was an outpatient facility and it was closed for the night. I'd looked for my things but my mother must have all ready taken them. I looted a set of scrubs instead and headed home. This had to be a mistake. I couldn't believe it._

Finally, the storm stopped and I began walking again. When I reached the small Lumber town, I thanked GOD for the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey.

"A little under dressed aren't ya' fella?" The bartender commented. I just looked down at the bar as he filled the drink,

"Leave the bottle," I replied. He laughed,

"All right, I know a hint when I hear one." The man next to me turned his head and shot back his own drink,

"Got somethin' to forget bub?" he asked. I downed my drink and poured another,

"What's it to you?"

"I just know the feeling is all." I turned, he was a rugged looking man. His black hair spiked up on the sides almost like horns, and he had sideburns grown all the way down to his chin.

"Logan, how about you?" I laughed.

"I really doubt you know the feeling Logan." He smiled and stood to go, laying a hefty tip down on his way out,

"I know a lot more than you think kid." I glared at him,

"Go to hell." He smiled a knowing smile,

"Been there, down that…. bought the t-shirt and burned it."


End file.
